


JUSTICE

by DustyP



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:10:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/DustyP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn wants revenge on Detective Ellison.</p><p> Some violence and swearing, nothing too graphic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JUSTICE

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a comment made by Arianna about a what-if situation from my last Dues story, Too High A Price.  
> Thank you, Marilyn, for the comment, the idea and input.  
> All are greatly appreciated.

The sounds of a busy Bull Pen rose and fell against Detective Jim Ellison's ears, and he sighed, leaning back in his office chair as he rubbed the back of his aching neck.   
  
It had been a long day, and not over yet.  
  
He still had the paperwork to finish after the successful arrest of the Park Stalker had been accomplished.  
  
Not without effort on his part, though. He had been forced to chase the tall, long-legged and surprisingly fast perp, through the park, over a five-foot high brick wall; through a duck pond, which mercifully happened to be less than knee deep, before tackling the man and bringing him down.  
  
After a short, but fierce struggle, he'd handcuffed the man who had been terrorising young women for three weeks, and, in a slightly breathless voice, read him his rights, than sat down on his prisoner to wait for his back-up to arrive, ignoring the squirming body and whining voice which threatened a law suit for police brutality.  
  
He was still trying to stretch the kinks out of his back from sitting still for too long, when he heard familiar footsteps approaching the office, and Blair's cheerful voice greeting another detective in the hallway.  
  
Then his friend and guide breezed into the room, bringing with him the scent of wet flannel and hot coffee.  
  
Jim turned his head to face his young friend as Blair dumped his backpack beside the desk and planted himself on the edge.  
  
"You're late," he growled, although his ire was half-hearted, and didn't phase Blair in the slightest.  
  
Waving a take-out Starbuck's cup under Jim's nose, he grinned and said.  "I know, sorry. Heard you had to take a detour through a duck pond... and thought you might be in need of some extra special caffeine."  
  
Jim reached for the cup and inhaled the scent, his taste buds reacting to the flavour of the hot liquid.  
  
"Mmm. Well, maybe Chief, you just earned yourself some extra Brownie points."  
  
Blair smiled and wriggled a little as his wet jeans made themselves felt.  "Great, does that mean I get to have the first shower at home? It's still pouring with rain out there, and I had to walk the last two blocks - carefully shielding that precious nectar you're drinking there."  
  
Jim waved his hand, too busy enjoying his coffee break to pay much attention, as Blair started on about the state of the pavement, the rudeness of pedestrians; how the Volvo had refused to start and he'd had to catch a bus, whose driver should really take a refresher course on manners, ending with an exasperated account of the irresponsibility of drivers who went out of their way to drench pedestrians by driving through puddles at speed.  
  
As Blair continued his mini-rant, Jim suddenly became aware that the grad student wasn't as relaxed as he pretended to be. His heart-rate was higher than normal for someone his age walking the distance he'd said, and the slight tremor in his voice bespoke of something worse than the reported misfortunes.  
  
Detective Ellison straightened in his chair and fixed his gaze unblinkingly on Blair's face: "What happened, Chief?" he asked softly.  
  
Startled, Blair stopped talking and met the concerned blue eyes of his best friend. "E r.. nothing, man... just wet and cold and ... "  
  
He stopped and dropped his gaze, flushing as he realised that Jim had detected his uneasiness.  
  
"It's nothing man, not really..."  
  
Jim didn't say anything, just waited patiently: he knew if he pushed, Blair would retreat until he was ready to talk, and that would take time.   
  
Blair shifted uneasily, but before he could open his mouth, Simon's door opened and the Captain walked into the Bull Pen.  
  
"You finished that report yet, Jim?" He paused. "Hey Sandburg, you're late, thought you were going to be here an hour ago?"  
  
"Well, Hello to you too, Captain," Blair said a trifle snippily. "Got here as soon as I could, I had to get the bus and..."  
  
Simon waved a hand, "Yeah, okay, okay... that report, Jim? I would like to get finished here as soon as possible."  
  
Jim turned back to his computer, cursing inwardly; Simon had lousy timing sometimes. Now he'd have to wait until he and Blair got back to the loft.  
  
"Almost done, Simon," he said.  Glancing back at Blair, he nodded, and gave him a look that said they'd finish this later.  
  
Blair was a trifle mollified by Jim's understanding, but still angry that Simon, once again, seemed to dismiss him as a nuisance kid, but was careful to keep his feelings to himself. He didn't want his observer's pass revoked, although he was beginning to regret ever coming into the office this afternoon. He just wanted to go home, have a long soak and forget his worries.   
  
He HAD been worried, no question about that, and he would tell Jim what had happened. In fact it would be a relief to air his misgivings, inwardly hoping that Jim would tell him he was worrying over nothing.   
  
He had a sneaking feeling, however, that it was more than just being upset at almost being knocked down by a careless driver. There had been something so deliberate about the incident... something menacing... malicious.  
  
Two hours later the partners were finally home, Blair making a beeline for the bathroom and some dry clothes. He had dried off a little in the Bull Pen, but his damp clothes felt cold and clammy.  
  
Jim shook the rain off his own coat and hung it up, then did the same for Sandburg's much wetter one.  
  
He switched on the coffee percolator, then went upstairs to get a change of clothes; he would have his shower after Sandburg finished.  
  
An hour later, the loft was warm and cosy, both men in dry clothes and thoroughly warmed up with the hot water and food from their favourite Chinese take-out. The empty containers lying on the kitchen counter ready to be tossed.  
  
Nursing his third cup of coffee, Jim turned towards his roommate who was sitting at the other end of the couch.  
  
"Okay, Chief. Tell me what happened this afternoon to get you spooked."  
  
Blair looked up, he was almost asleep, the warm safety of the loft and his friend nearby, lulling him into a half-dose.  
  
"Oh, don't know as I was spooked," he started to obfuscate, then as Jim sighed loudly, he ducked his head and looked down at his half empty mug.  
  
"I don't really know why I was so uneasy," he began. "I just thought that someone was - you know - was following me."  
  
Jim frowned. "When and where?"  
  
Blair looked up, his face brightening at the sure way that Jim was looking at him. There was no question that Jim believed him and that both warmed - and worried him.  
  
He nodded in acknowledgement and relaxed slightly.   
  
"I've felt a bit uneasy for a couple of days now, but thought I was imagining it," he said. "But today, after I got your call about the bust and meeting you at the station, the car wouldn't start, so I started to walk to the bus stop, when this car pulled up behind me. It didn't stop completely and I turned round to see what the driver was doing."   
  
He swallowed hard, "When the engine revved I thought he was gonna run me down, so I jumped back and tripped, that's why I'm so wet - then he just accelerated and went past, close enough to drench me."  
  
He paused. "I just jumped on the first bus that came along, but that meant I had to walk further than my usual stop. When I passed that Starbuck's on the corner, I went in to get a drink to warm me up, got you your favourite, then went on to the station."  
  
He looked up at Jim, nervously knuckling his hair behind an ear. "You think maybe I was just over-reacting?" he asked hopefully.  
  
Jim was watching him, his eyes concerned, then shook his head slightly. "I don't know, Chief. You don't scare that easily ..." He thought for a moment. "You didn't recognise the car, or the driver, I suppose?"  
  
Blair shook his head. "It was a a black SUV, the driver, as far as I could tell, was wearing dark glasses. Didn't look like anyone I knew."  
  
"Dark glasses, huh? On a dull afternoon and raining hard?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "Seems like someone trying a basic disguise."  
  
Blair felt a shiver pass through him. "So... " he croaked, then cleared his throat. "So you think there  **was** someone out to scare me?"  
  
"Maybe, or just some shumuck that likes to drive through puddles," Jim smiled.  
  
Blair's grin was a little forced, but Jim was pleased to note that his heartbeat had steadied from it's sudden acceleration while he was describing the event.  
  
"You haven't any ex-girlfriends, with angry boyfriends, or anything like that?" he asked light-heartedly.   
  
His diversion worked as Blair snorted inelegantly. "When have I had the time for romance? I'm beginning to forget my basic come-on lines."  
  
Jim laughed. "Never happen, Chief," then sobered slightly. "I'll check with Simon and see if any of our recent perps are out of jail, or anyone with a grudge back in town. Meanwhile, keep your cell-phone charged-up and call me if you even think something is wrong." He aimed a stern look at his roommate. "You hear me? No walking alone, just stay with the crowd at University; no going off on your own. Okay?"  
  
Blair nodded. "Okay, Jim." He paused, then added. "Then you think it might be someone - from an earlier case?"  
  
Jim shrugged as he got to his feet and stretched. "Won't do any harm to check," he said, walking into the kitchen to deposit his mug in the sink.  
  
As he came back into the living room, he ruffled Blair's hair. "Don't worry, Chief. We'll keep a sharp lookout and find out if anyone is playing stupid games."  
  
Blair smiled back and relaxed even further. He felt a lot better just talking about his fears to Jim and not have them laughed off.   
  
"I'm going to bed, Chief. You might do the same, it's been a long day."  
  
"Yeah, I will. Just have a few books to mark, but I should be finished in an hour."  
  
"Okay, then. Goodnight."  
  
"'Night, Jim... and thanks."  
  
* * *  
Over the next few days, Blair was careful when he was out of the loft; he stayed in sight of his colleagues at Rainier, and had lunch either in the cafeteria, or in his office with the door locked. He made sure he had his cell-phone charged, and after getting his car checked out by a friend of Jim's, was careful to park in well-lighted areas. He still felt as though he was being watched at times, but it didn't seem so menacing now - now that he knew Jim was checking up on would-be troublemakers.  
  
Jim had checked with Simon about his recent cases to see if anyone was back out on the streets, but when that came to nothing, he started to check out some of the students who had hassled Blair over grades in recent months.  
  
That also led nowhere, most of them had just been blowing off steam and Sandburg had sorted them out himself. He was beginning to think it **had** just been a driver who got his kicks out of trying to scare pedestrians.  
  
That theory was blown out of the water, when a week later, Simon called him into his office.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
Banks handed him a sheet of paper. "Just got this off the fax." He waited a moment until Jim had read the short report and nodded as the other man swore explosively.   
  
"The stupid, incompetent, idiots. Some of these so-called cops couldn't direct traffic on a one-way street."  
  
Simon nodded. "Yeah, know what you mean." He sat down behind his desk. "So, you think he might be headed this way?"  
  
Jim shook his head, still seething at the printed words informing all law enforcement officers that at 10.00 hours that morning, a prisoner named Dawson Quinn had escaped from a guarded hospital room at Cascade General, taking a guard and a female nurse hostage.  
  
"This was a couple of hours ago, why weren't we informed earlier?"   
  
Simon just shrugged and lifted his hands.  
  
"He had to have had help. Must be someone new, that girl who helped him before, Lisa something... is still in jail - or is she?"  
  
He looked across at his boss. "Will you check, sir? I'm going to ring Blair and tell him to stay on his toes."  
  
The Captain nodded and as he reached for his phone, asked. "You think he might be the one behind whoever is trying to scare Blair, getting someone on the outside to hassle the kid?"   
  
Jim paused on his way to the door. "I don't know, sir, but it is a possibility. Quinn knows how to hold a grudge, and he's crazy enough to try most anything."   
  
An hour later, the two men had learned that Quinn's girlfriend was still in jail, so that lead had dried up. He was at the hospital for tests for a suspected stomach ulcer and had knocked one guard unconscious with a small oxygen bottle and forced the other guard, and the nurse treating him, to help him get out of the hospital. They'd taken the nurse's car and driven off.   
  
Blair was in a faculty meeting and couldn't be reached, but he would get the message to ring Detective Ellison as soon as the meeting was over.   
  
When another hour had passed without a phone call from Blair, Jim rang the University again.   
  
Yes, she had passed on Detective Ellison's messages, over half an hour ago. Blair had left the campus immediately, presumably to go to meet Detective Ellison.  
  
"Wait, what do you mean 'messages' I only left one message?" Jim was on his feet, phone clenched in a tight fist, a sick feeling in his stomach.  
  
The girl sounded confused. "I don't understand, I got a message from the Police Dept to say that you wanted Mr. Sandburg to meet you at home, to go straight there and wait for you."  
  
"Who left that message?" Jim barked into the phone, and Simon who was passing, stopped at his tone, and Brown and Rafe looked up from their desks.  
  
The girl sounded a bit mystified, "She didn't leave a name, said she was your secretary."  
  
"Damn!" Jim swore, he held out the phone to Rafe, then bolted for the door. "Get what you can from the girl, Rafe. Someone left a message for Blair that didn't come from me. Simon can you put out a call for the nearest black and white to go to the loft?"  
  
The words were left trailing in the air, as Ellison vanished through the door.He knew it was probably too late to intercept Blair, but he had to make sure.   
  
Simon looked puzzled, then his brow cleared and he whirled to the nearest phone.   
  
Rafe didn't know what was going on, only that Blair was in trouble and then realised the girl on the other end of the phone was starting to get annoyed.  
  
"Hello, Miss. This is Detective Rafe from Major Crime. Can you tell me what exactly the caller said." He paused, then said. "Yes, I'm sorry about that, but Detective Ellison was in a hurry. This is very important, please tell me what the caller said."  
  
The girl sounded confused but mollified.  
  
"Not much, really. She said she was Detective Ellison's secretary that he'd had to go out and that Mr. Sandburg was to go straight home, lock the door and wait for him." She paused. "Is anything wrong, Detective? I'm sorry if I got the message wrong, but I'm sure that is what she said. I wrote it down just to make sure, as Blair gets all kinds of strange messages at times."  
  
"No, you probably got it just right. Look, Miss..."  
  
"Sheila," she interrupted.  
  
"Sheila... a detective will be coming over to see you, will you try and remember anything at all about the message. Any sounds in the background, that sort of thing?"  
  
"Oh! Well, yes of course, I'll try. Is Blair in any kind of trouble?"  
  
"Maybe. I hope not. Thank you for your time."  
  
Rafe hung up the phone carefully,   
  
Simon was getting his coat. "I'm going to the loft," he snapped "Rafe, you and Brown come with me. Officers are on the way, but Jim may need some back-up."  
  
"Sir, what's going on? Is Blair in some kind of trouble?" Brown asked.  
  
"I'll fill you in on the way," the Captain said as he hurried out.  
  
All in all, it was only a few minutes after Jim's second call to the University before all four detectives were en route to the loft, sirens going, and their hearts racing with adrenaline and fear for their friends.  
  
Jim pulled up in front of his home with a screech of brakes and threw himself out of the truck. Two officers in their patrol car, got out to meet him.  
  
"We haven't seen anyone come in, or go out, Detective Ellison."  
  
Jim nodded his thanks while he made his way into the lobby.  
  
His heart sank when he saw the familiar backpack lying at the foot of the stairs. He opened up his sense of smell, and picked up the scent of blood, faint but there. His eyes zoomed in on a few spots of blood on the floor, knowing they belonged to his partner.   
  
Picking up the pack, he ran up the stairs, keeping his hearing open as well as his sight. Nothing but the usual sounds of the building came to him. No familiar voice muttering over the blue books, no heartbeat that grounded him even without words; no scent of soap and shampoo. No sign, or recent scent of Blair at all.  
  
Looks as though Blair hadn't made it up to the loft, but he had to make sure.  
  
When he got to the front door, he tensed. There was a white square of paper pinned to the wood.  
  
'You're gonna need your cape, Ellison. You want the kid back, you know the routine. Be at the ambush site by 7 tonight, alone, not armed, or I'm going to stuff your partner into another mine shaft. Just follow the bread crumbs.'  
  
One of the uniforms had followed him, and waited silently as the tall detective crumpled a sheet of paper in his hand, then ventured.  "Detective Ellison, can you tell me what's going on? Is there anything we can do?"   
  
Jim straightened, his face an impassive mask.  "Check with the neighbours, see if anyone heard, or saw, anything. My roommate has been abducted by Dawson Quinn."  
  
"Oh, Hell! Yes, sir." The officer turned to his radio mic. "Charlie, Detective Ellison says to check with the neighbours, I'll start on the third floor."  
  
"Okay," his partner's resigned sigh was evident.  
  
This annoyed Jim, he knew it was a wearying task, but it was part of his - and their - job. It was possible that someone MAY have heard or seen something to help.  "Tell him to check out the back alley."  
  
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry Detective Ellison." The young patrolman sighed inwardly.   
Charlie didn't know all the facts, but he'd put his foot in it again. They both knew that getting on Ellison's bad side was very dangerous, especially if it concerned his partner.  
  
"Not your fault," Jim said brusquely.  
  
"No, I mean about Blair.. er Mr. Sandburg. I know him slightly, we took some classes at the University a while back."  
  
Jim looked at him, the young officer was sincere. "Thank you."   
  
"I'll just get going, then..."  
  
Jim nodded, unlocked his door and went inside, he wanted to be searching, but he had to keep calm. Quinn was a tricky bastard, and he would need all the information he could get if he was going to get Blair back, unharmed.   
  
Dropping Blair's pack on the coffee table, he swiftly went through it, Blair was always resourceful, maybe he'd managed to leave a clue of some kind.  
  
There was the usual things, books, papers, pens, a Sentinel-friendly First Aid kit, a flashlight. Jim's mouth twitched a little, he'd told his roommate to carry a torch, the times his car had broken down in the dark, looks like the kid had taken notice.   
There was also a scrap of paper with a number written on it.   
  
Jim's eyes narrowed, it looked like a car licence plate.  
  
Picking up the phone, he contacted the DMV and after identifying himself, asked for the owner's details.   
  
Just as he was replacing the receiver, he heard Simon coming along the hallway. "Jim! Jim, any sign of the kid?"  
  
Jim shook his head as Simon came into the loft. "No sir. It looks as though he was attacked as soon as he came into the front lobby. His pack was lying downstairs."  
  
"Damn!" Simon ran a hand over his head. "Was it Quinn?"  
  
"Oh yes. It was Quinn, all right." Jim handed his Captain the paper he'd found on the door.  
  
Simon read the message and swore viciously. "That maniac. When is he going to stay put in jail where he belongs?"  
  
Jim shrugged. "He has outside help, Simon." He held out the scrap of paper. "It looks as though Blair got a look at whoever has been following him."  
  
"Janet Baker?" Simon read the name of the owner. "A woman?" Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. That name sounds familiar."  
  
Jim nodded. "Yeah, it does. She works over at Cascade General. Blair met her on one of his many visits there, she was also taking night classes at Rainier."  
  
"Yeah, that's right. He introduced her when we were waiting for the doctor to sign him out last month."  
  
"I'll bet you my next year's pay that the female nurse taken hostage is Janet Baker," said Jim.  
  
Simon sighed as he opened his cell phone. "No takers, Jim."  
  
Having confirmed that the girl hostage was indeed Janet Baker, an APB was put out on her car.  
  
Jim was putting the things back into Blair's pack. His hands were steady although his insides were anything but.   
  
"He was clever Simon. Telling Blair to come home. If he'd said to meet anywhere else, Blair would've smelt a rat and phoned me at the station. This way, Blair would think I was on the way to meet him."  
  
Simon nodded. "That sounds like the devious scum." He paused. "I'm sorry, Jim."  
  
"What for?"   
  
"I blew him off in the Bull Pen, didn't really listen when you were checking out old perps who might be hassling the kid."  
  
Jim nodded. "I know. You had bigger worries on your mind."  
  
Simon shrugged. "I should know by now that if anything is worrying Sandburg, and that you take it seriously, that it IS something to listen too."  
  
"We'd better get back to the station, see if any information has come in," Jim said, putting his hand on the taller man's shoulder.  
  
"Why are you being so calm? You're usually pacing and wanting to run off and DO something?" Simon didn't like this ultra-calm Ellison. Something was going to blow, big time.  
  
Jim's blue eyes were cold and certain. "I'm not that calm, Simon. It's just I know I'll get Blair back, and Quinn, will be back in custody. Maybe this time, he'll stay there."  
  
Simon felt a shiver go down his back. "This a sentinel thing?" he tried to joke weakly.  
  
Jim gave a crooked smile. "Maybe. I'll let you know."  
  
"Why am I not reassured?"   
  
When they got downstairs it was to find Brown and Rafe trotting back across the street. "Oh, hey Captain, we were just coming up to tell you..."  
  
"Tell me what?" growled Banks.  
  
"The guard, the one that Quinn took? Well he's been found..."  
  
"Alive?"   
  
"Yes, sir. Badly beaten up, and shot, but he'll survive."  
  
"Where was he found?" asked Jim tightly.  
  
"On the outskirts of the city," Rafe answered. He pulled a road map out of his pocket and laid it on the hood of the police car.  
  
"Just about, here," he said, indicating a spot with his finger.  
  
Jim and Simon studied the location, and Jim nodded. "Bread crumbs," he said softly.  
  
"Huh?" The captain and his two other detectives looked puzzled.  
  
"This is on the road that the convoy was on, when Quinn escaped before."  
  
"Yes, so?" Banks couldn't help a slight shiver when he remembered being at the mercy of the convicted murderer.  
  
"The note, Simon, the one Quinn left on the door. It said follow the bread crumbs."  
  
"The sadistic son-of-a-bitch," Simon exploded.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"We're going back to the station. You two stay on here and see if anyone saw anything. You can let the uniforms get back on patrol."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Simon, I better get over to the hospital, see if the guard can tell us anything further, and I've got a couple of things I need to do, if I'm going to make the ambush site by 7 PM."  
  
"You're not gonna run off and do everything by yourself, Ellison. I can't allow you to do that."  
  
Jim tensed, but realised that Simon was being the Captain.  
  
"Yes, I know that Simon, I'm not a fool. I'll need help to get out there. I thought if I could get a chopper, it would cut down the time and also let me see more of the terrain from the air. Quinn isn't just going to be sitting there waiting for me. He'll have an ambush planned, and that road is straight as a ruler for miles. He'll spot any one following me."  
  
"Right." Simon eyed his detective and his friend. "Okay, be at the station in an hour, I should've been able to scrounge up a chopper by then."  
  
Jim nodded, then turned and went back up to the loft. He needed supplies, extra ammunition, some warm clothing for both himself and Blair. He just knew it wasn't going to be a straight hand-over and the area was very bare of amenities. The Cascade Forest was very remote, mountainous, deep forest, streams and very cold and wet, this time of year.  
  
At least Simon hadn't argued about Jim going to the ambush site, at least not yet.   
He'd bet his boss would have 'conditions', but he'd deal with them later. Quinn was a sadistic killer, with not an ounce of mercy, or compassion in him, he couldn't - would not - leave Blair in his hands a moment longer than necessary.  
  
When he got back to the station, he went straight to Simon's office.   
  
"Hey Jim, we've got a little more information on that girl. Apparently, she's been visiting Quinn in jail over the past few months. It also appears that she is also a friend of Lisa, that other girl who helped Quinn last year, she's been visiting her as well."  
  
"Any sign of her car?"  
  
"Yes. She was caught on a speed camera, ten miles out of Cascade - near that road, Jim. Looks as if they're still using her car for transport."  
  
"Any sign of Blair?"  
  
"Not visible, but she did have a passenger, according to the guy at the Filling Station, at Forest Road."  
  
"Well, looks as if Quinn has been planning this for a while. She's probably the one who has been following Blair, and phoned Rainier and gave that false message."  
  
"Give the man a prize."   
  
"There's only one prize I want," murmured Jim softly.   
  
Simon lifted an eyebrow.   
  
"Blair home, in one piece."  
  
"Me too, Jim. Me too."  
  
* * * *  
  
Blair Sandburg was not a happy man. He was sick, bruised and bloody. Admittedly, the blood wasn't leaking from a bullet hole anywhere in his body, unlike the last time he and Quinn had met; it was from a gash in his brow when he'd fallen - make that - thrown - against the stairs in the lobby, but it was still blood, and felt sticky and uncomfortable.  
  
That discomfort was minor compared to the rest of his aching body. His chest hurt, so did his back from where he was sure he'd been kicked; might even have cracked a rib. Great, just what a guy needed at this time of year with the amount of work he had at the University.  
  
He had spent the first couple of hours in the back of Janet Baker's car - and wasn't that a surprise. He'd thought she was a nice, quiet girl, pretty enough, but not really his type, and obviously he wasn't her type either.  
  
Her type of man was a big, cold-blooded, murderer.  
  
He would never understand the fascination some women had for the killers in society. He could write a paper when he got out of this current mess.  
  
IF he got out of this current mess.  
  
No, don't go thinking negative thoughts; Jim would be looking for him by now, and his Sentinel would find him, then kick Quinn's ass back to jail.  
  
He hoped Jim had found his scribbled note with the car licence number. He'd spotted the black SUV parked further along the street, when he'd pulled up in front of the loft and jotted it down in case it left before he met Jim. Even if it wasn't the same car that had almost knocked him down, it didn't belong to any of the neighbours.  
  
Of course, he'd fully intended to tell Jim himself, but as he'd entered the lobby, a blow in the small of his back had sent him stumbling, then a flurry of blows had knocked him against the wall; large hands had grabbed him, spun him round and punched him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He'd vaguely realised that there was more than one man, as there were two many fists hitting him at the same time; he'd sagged, choking for breath, then had been thrown up against the staircase, hitting his head on the metal railings.   
  
Dizzy and disorientated, he'd tried to fight back, but had only managed to get one good kick against an assailant's thigh, which had resulted in a snarled curse and a heavy blow with something hard to the side of his head, which had stunned him.   
  
He must've blacked out for a while, because the next thing he was aware of was the people in the car arguing. The sound of a shot had made his heart race, but he'd been unable to tell who it was that had been shot. Things had been blurred for a while after that, until his head had cleared enough to realise he was on the floor in the back of a car, his hands tied behind him, trying to breathe through the pain in his head and chest.  
  
He struggled to find a more comfortable position, managing to turn on his side so he could breathe a little easier.  
  
The man and woman in the front were arguing. Funny that, he could've sworn that it had been two men who had attacked him, and he seemed to vaguely remember more people in the car.   
  
He listened carefully trying to piece together what had occurred.  
  
"Why don't we just drop him off, we could be over the border in two, three hours. Start a new life together, like you promised."  
  
"I told you, Jan... I have a score to settle with Ellison."   
  
"I can understand that, Dawson. But why did you bother with a student teacher? Why have me and Eddie, follow Sandburg? Why risk getting caught by staying to kidnap him?"  
  
"Because he and Ellison are partners, and having the kid in my hands gives me an edge over that cop."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Shut up!" Quinn yelled, startling the driver enough that the car swerved slightly before straightening up again.  
  
"Enough with the questions. We are gonna do things my way. I'm gonna make Ellison pay for every single minute I spent in that rotten jail. Now just drive."  
  
"Sure, Honey." The woman's voice was soothing but held a trace of fear.  
  
A few minutes later she said. "If we're going to drive very far, I better get some gas. The sign says there's a gas station a few miles up the road."  
  
"Yeah. Don't want to run out before we meet up with Eddie. Stop the car a minute."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just do as I damn well say."   
  
The car stopped and Blair heard and felt the passenger door open and slam shut, then the rear door was yanked open and Quinn's scowling face looked down at him.  
  
"Hey Sport. You comfortable?"  
  
"Not really." Blair said brightly. "Are we there yet?"  
  
An evil grin crossed the killer's face for an instant. "Glad you're so cheerful. We're gonna be stopping in a little while, so I don't want any trouble from you." He pulled out a gun and waved it in front of his captive's face. "If you try and yell for help, I'll kill whoever is in the gas station. Understand?"  
  
"You really are a son-of-a-bitch, aren't you?" hissed Blair.  
  
"Now, now, Teach. Language..." He pulled out a large bandanna and tied it tightly over Blair's mouth. "Just in case you forget," he said mockingly.  
  
Pulling the travel rug from the back of the seat, he draped it over Blair, gave the bundle a pat on the head, then climbed back beside the driver.  
  
"Okay, Jan. Now we can go."  
  
Trying not to panic as the rug settled over his head, Blair struggled to breathe evenly.   
  
_Jim, man, I hope you can find me. This guy is seriously nuts._  
  
* * *  
Back in the Bull Pen Jim was catching Simon up on what he'd learned from the wounded guard, Amos Grant.   
  
Grant had been disorientated and in obvious pain but he'd managed to tell Jim that after getting out of the hospital, Quinn had forced him to drive Janet's car to a house which had been home to the girl.   
  
Amos had been shocked to learn that Janet was actively helping Quinn, he'd liked the girl whom he'd met on his various trips to escort prisoners to the hospital, and had always thought she seemed to be a rather quiet, competent, young woman.   
  
Quinn had changed out of his prison overalls, with clothes that had been new, probably provided by Janet, the detective surmised, then another man, Eddie, had arrived.  
  
Slowly, and between painful pauses to let the man catch his breath, the detective had learned that Quinn had been helped by this man; and it was this Eddie, who had beaten Grant up when he'd tried to escape later, but it had been Quinn who'd shot him and dumped him on the road.  
  
Jim had asked if he'd heard anything that Quinn might have said about his eventual destination, but Amos hadn't known anything else. He'd heard Janet talking about going to Canada and it was obvious she thought she and Quinn were going to settle down there after he'd retrieved some money he was 'owed'.  
  
Grant had then filled in the rest of the time he'd been with Quinn. A short time after Eddie had arrived, he'd been shoved into the back of the car with Janet, and with Eddie at the wheel and Quinn in front, they'd driven to an apartment complex and parked on the street. After a little while, Quinn had Eddie had got out of the car and gone into the lobby of a building, then they'd come back out dragging a young man with them.  
  
They'd tossed him into the back beside Amos and Janet, then driven off.  
  
The young man had appeared very dazed and was bleeding from a slight cut on his forehead.  
  
Ellison's fists had clenched on his notebook when he'd heard how his roommate had been treated, but kept his face and voice calm as he'd coaxed Amos into finishing his story.  
  
"Then what happened, Mr. Grant?"  
  
Grant had lain back against his pillows, "They just drove for a while, the kid was out cold, so no-one was talking much. Janet seemed a bit concerned about him being unconscious, but Quinn just told her to shut up, he was okay. He hadn't hit him very hard."   
  
At that point Jim's pencil had snapped in half, and he'd had to forcibly relax his grip on the abused piece of wood.  
  
"And then...?"  
  
Grant had closed his eyes. "About thirty minutes later, the car stopped and Eddie got out, their attention was on the other side of the car so I thought I could get out and hide in the trees at the side of the road, but Eddie saw me and came after me. That's when he beat me up. I was lying on the ground, and they were standing above me, just looking down at me as though I was just trash..." Grant opened his eyes and looked up at Jim. "I knew they weren't going to let me live, and I was so scared, detective."  
  
Jim nodded sympathetically. "Then what?"  
  
"Quinn told me to get up and run. When I just stared at him, he said that if I could make it to the trees, I'd be free. So I tried, detective. I got halfway across the road, when he shot me in the back."  
  
He shuddered. "I came round and was surprised that I was still alive. They'd just gone and left me lying where I fell."  
  
* * *  
  
"He was lucky, Simon. The bullet hit him high in the back, but it was to one side, so missed anything vital, although he won't be using that arm and shoulder very much, for a long time."  
  
He got up and paced to the window. "That bastard Quinn used him like a paper-chase clue, pointing the way. He must've had this planned right from when he picked Blair up."  
  
Simon nodded and asked. "So what happens when you get to the ambush site?"  
  
"Hopefully, when I'm in the chopper, I can get a good look at the terrain around the spot before Quinn suspects the chopper flying past is us, I'll have a better idea of what the options are for him to get to and from that point."  
  
"You really think that Quinn is going to take off with Blair?"  
  
"It's just a feeling I have Captain, but Quinn has a lot of hate and rage, I don't think he's just going to hand Blair over without making me work hard to get him back."  
  
Simon fidgeted, but had to say it. "You know that Quinn probably won't just hand Blair back, don't you, even if you do what he says?"  
  
"I know, Simon. He'll kill us both if he gets half a chance. He'll certainly kill Blair if I don't show up." He paused, fidgeting with his coat for a second. "I made a mistake with Gil Brodie, Captain. I won't let Quinn kill another kid if I can prevent it."  
  
"Your only mistake with Brodie was allowing him to talk you into going in your place, Jim. Every cop understood that. You tried everything you could to get him out. Others made mistakes that day, too."  
  
"I was the one in charge, sir. It was ultimately my mistake."  
  
Simon shook his head. "Don't let this screw up your mind, Jim. You weren't to blame."  
  
Jim just shook his head. No matter what anyone said, he had felt responsible then, and he felt responsible now.   
  
The ringing of the phone broke the silence and Simon answered. "Captain Banks."He listened to the short message, then said. "Yes, thank you."  
  
Replacing the receiver he told Jim. "The chopper is ready. We have a couple of hours before the light fades. You ready?"  
  
Jim nodded, then raised an eyebrow. "No last minute conditions, Captain?"  
  
"Yeah. You come back in one piece, with the kid, or I will kick your ass back down to traffic. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Understood."

Jim did understand. Banks would be as worried as he was, but he wasn't going to put any undue restraints on Jim, or any unnecessary orders to slow his detective down.  
  
"Just be careful, Jim. Quinn is a devious man, and he has help. We'll be as close as we can without spooking him."  
  
"Thank you, Simon. I'll be as careful as I can. I want Quinn, but I want Blair back, more."  
  
Simon nodded his agreement with that sentiment and the two men shook hands, then Jim left the office.  
  
* * * *  
An hour later, Detective Ellison was sitting beside the pilot of a Forest Ranger's helicopter, adjusting his headphones to enable him to speak to the ground control unit where Simon Banks was currently co-ordinating the search with Senior Ranger, Bill Watson.  
  
Watson was a veteran, with years of experience, and knew these woods like his own backyard, and Simon was glad to have the man beside him.  
  
With Simon were H, Rafe and Joel, who had insisted on coming with them, even though he wasn't on duty, and they'd driven to a Ranger Station about five miles west of the road, in order to avoid being seen by Quinn.  
  
Ellison and the pilot were now circling high above the forest. Jim using binoculars as an excuse for being able to see the rough tracks through this region.  
  
He could see a rough track that an off-road vehicle could use, but not a car, so if that was the route Quinn was going to take, he obviously had other transport besides the girl's car. He couldn't see any movement around the track as yet, but he had the location firmly fixed in his memory; he'd be able to find it again, even in the dark.  
  
It was getting near the time for Jim to make the rendezvous, the light was beginning to fade, anyway.   
  
Time to make use of his army training; it was too far from the nearest landing ground for Jim to go back with the chopper, and make the ambush site in time, so the pilot would go as low as he could, and Jim would drop off. He'd done it dozens of times in training and a few when on an actual mission, so it was no big deal for him. He had to smile to himself when he remembered another drop-off, when he'd had a panic-stricken anthropologist pretending he could do a parachute jump. The smile faded when he recalled that same anthropologist was the one in mortal danger this time.  
  
Checking he had all his gear stowed in the large backpack, he took off his headphones and unfastened his seat belt, before lifting a thumb to the pilot.  
  
"Good luck," the man shouted, although Jim would've heard him, even above the noise of the engine, even if he'd whispered. His senses seemed to be on high alert without him even trying.   
  
The machine drifted gently through the early evening light, until it was hovering twenty feet off the ground. Jim dropped the flexible steel ladder and in what seemed like mere seconds, was on the ground and waving the pilot away.   
  
Resettling the pack on his shoulders, Jim got his bearings, then jogged off in the direction of the ranger camp where Simon and the rest of the Major Crime men would be waiting for him.  
  
* * * *  
Ten minutes to the hour, Jim pulled up to the side of the road where he could see a crude paper sign saying 'STOP COP'.  
  
He was driving an ordinary car, provided by Rafe, and was unarmed as Quinn had instructed. Of course being unarmed didn't mean he was defenceless, plus he had weapons and supplies hidden in two spots between here and the track he'd seen. Simon had also promised that, if possible, Ranger Watson would send a couple of his men to plant more supplies on the other side of the track in case he was wrong and Quinn didn't use that route.  
  
Of course, all these precautions wouldn't do him any good if Quinn just decided to shoot him from concealment, but he was pinning his hopes that Quinn wanted him to suffer before killing him.  
  
He got out of the car and lifted his coat, showing anyone who was watching that he wasn't carrying a gun.  
  
"Stand still, Ellison," a harsh voice called from the tree-line on the opposite side of the road.  
  
Ellison did that, tensing as he recognised Quinn's voice. He dialled up his hearing in the hope of hearing Sandburg.  
  
He could hear the heartbeats of two people, neither were of his friend.  
  
Jim's hopes sank a little; he hadn't really believed that Blair would be handed over to him, but he had hoped at least his friend would be there.  
  
After standing there for about five minutes, Jim heard the sound of an engine coming up behind him.  
  
It was a jeep, capable of going further on a rough track than an ordinary car. It passed him, then stopped fifty yards down the road, and a man got out and moved to the side of the road. With his enhanced vision, it was easy for Jim to see that he was about 35 to 40 years old, about the same height as Quinn, but a lot bulkier. He was dressed in army fatigues and armed with a holstered gun and there was a rifle in the jeep.   
  
Listening intently, Jim heard the driver say: "No-one following him, Quinn. I could see down the road for miles, no one is close."  
  
"Okay, let's go and see our detective."  
  
Then Jim saw the two men move out from under the trees and walk slowly towards him.  
  
He kept his hands spread out at his sides, not wanting to give them any excuse to shoot him.  
  
"Hey, Ellison," greeted Quinn. "Nice of you to join us."  
  
"I'm here, Quinn, where is Sandburg?"  
  
Quinn lashed out with his hand, catching Jim on the side of the jaw, making him stagger slightly, blood trickling from a cut lip.  
  
"I didn't say you could speak yet, cop."  
  
Jim kept his mouth shut, again unwilling to risk being injured enough to be unable to help Blair, but his eyes were chips of blue ice.  
  
"That's better," Quinn smirked. "Now let me see, you want to see the kid, huh?"  
  
Jim didn't speak, knowing what would happen if he opened his mouth again.  
  
Quinn nodded. "Well, you learn real fast, cop. Yes, I know you want to see that long-haired pal of yours, but we need to have a chat first, then take a little ride."  
  
Jim braced himself as Quinn moved closer.  
  
"Now Eddie here, says you weren't followed, but you might just be sneaky enough to be wired, so strip."  
  
Jim stared at him. "What?"  
  
"You heard him, copper," snarled Eddie, moving in on Jim's other side. "Strip, or we'll do it for you."  
  
Jim shrugged, and started to remove his jacket, watching all the time for another blow. He was allowed to strip without further action from the two men, although Eddie was pretty free with his comments, circling round him as he stood in the middle of the road completely naked.  
  
"Wowee, Quinn, he strips down real good. You work out, detective? Bet you give a good ride for man or woman."   
  
The words and looks were intended to embarrass, but Jim ignored him; he'd endured worse insults than these. He wasn't embarrassed, knowing it was just another way to show power. Although the cold air prickled at his bare skin, he refused to allow himself to shiver.  
  
Quinn searched through his discarded clothes thoroughly, before throwing them back at the tall man standing silently in the near darkness.  
  
"Okay, you can get dressed, then walk ahead of me to the jeep."  
  
He turned and whistled. "Jan, you can come out now."  
  
As Jim finished dressing, he turned to see a girl he recognised as Janet Baker, walking slowly towards the vehicle he'd been directed towards.  
  
She had her head lowered, but Jim could see how tense she was, she looked uncomfortable and uneasy.  
  
 _Yeah, maybe you're beginning to realise that your boy friend isn't the poor misunderstand, wrongly jailed person, you thought he was_ , Jim thought unsympathetically.  
  
When they all reached the jeep, Quinn motioned Jim into the back and climbed in beside him. Eddie and Janet settled into the front seats.  
  
Pressing his gun hard into Jim's ribs, Quinn ordered. "Okay, Eddie, let's take the detective to see his little friend."  
  
Half an hour later, with the lights of the jeep cutting twin swathes of white through the growing darkness, Eddie stopped.  
  
Reaching out with his hearing, Jim was relieved to hear the rapid beating of a very familiar heartbeat.  
  
Quinn sat for a few moments, studying the profile of his prisoner in the reflected light from the dashboard. It was getting difficult to see in the growing darkness.  
  
When Jim didn't show any reaction, Quinn dug the gun harder into his side.  
  
"No questions, Ellison?"  
  
Jim shrugged, "I assume you'll tell me what's going on when you feel like it."  
  
Quinn scowled, then grinned. "Yeah, that's right. I'm calling all the shots now. Well, Eddie here, is going to get your little pal, then we'll see... Eddie!"  
  
The driver got out of the jeep, switching on a torch to find his way into the trees.   
  
Jim, of course, could see him clearly without the beam of the torch, and he was also listening intently. He could now hear Sandburg breathing heavily, and the faint rustle of clothing as he moved - shivering, Jim realised. How long had this maniac left him out here without shelter of any kind? One more mark against Quinn.   
  
Jim stamped down on his feelings; he had to keep focused, as long as Blair was alive, they would cope.  
  
About fifty yards into the trees, Eddie bent over a bundle on the ground, tossing a few branches aside as he hauled Sandburg to his feet.  
  
Blair swayed, unable to walk from being tied up for hours, and with a muttered curse Eddie hauled him over a shoulder and made his way back to the jeep.  
  
Dumping his burden on the ground in front of the vehicle, Eddie stepped back and looked over at the man who'd hired him.  
  
The escaped killer got out of the vehicle and walked round the hood to prod the shivering young man with his foot, then turned to say, "Get out, Ellison."  
  
Jim lost no time in complying, wanting to be able to examine Blair at closer quarters.  
  
His fury rose as he saw that Blair was gagged as well as the bonds that had been round his ankles; his hands were still tied; his face was white with cold, and his eyes closed.  
  
"What the hell? How long has he been like this?"  
  
"Now, now detective. Curb that temper of yours. He's okay, just a mite cold, and probably hungry right now," Quinn mocked.  
  
Jim clenched his fists, making himself stand still. Quinn was just itching to use that gun and he didn't want either himself, or Blair, to be the target.  
  
"Can we stop for a while, Dawson?" came Janet's quavering voice. "I'm cold and tired."  
  
Quinn glanced over at her, then at the surrounding darkness. "Yeah, okay. We'll make camp for the night, it's getting too dark to travel anyway."   
  
Janet got out of the car, shivering with her arms crossed around her body.  
  
"Ellison, you can untie your little buddy, but no false moves. I want you alive a bit longer, but I will shoot him in some painful part of his body if you cross me. Understand?"  
  
Jim nodded tersely. "Yes, I understand."  
  
He lost no time in going to his friend, having a struggle to untie the tight ropes, then pulled off the crude gag. The corners of Blair's mouth were cut and his wrists and ankles were swollen and bloody from the tightness of his bonds. He carefully straightened the curled up legs and lifted the curly head off the damp ground.   
  
"Hey, Chief," he slapped Blair's cheeks gently. "You with me here?"  
  
Blair groaned, moving his head on Jim's supporting arm.  
  
"J'm, tha' you?"  
  
Relief swept through Jim as he brushed the tangled hair from Blair's bruised and dirty face.  
  
"Yes, buddy, it's me."  
  
"We goin' 'ome, yet?"  
  
"No, not yet. Come on, sit up. Let's get you off the ground."  
  
"'Kay," Blair sighed, then groaned as his cramped muscles spasmed, and his eyes flew open. "Jim, that hurts man."  
  
"Ah, ain't that sweet," Eddie mocked, as he watched Ellison rub the circulation back into the younger man's limbs. "Come on, let's move."  
  
He waved towards the side of the road, where Quinn and Janet were setting up a makeshift camp in a small clearing; they had blankets and a coffee pot, Janet had even provided some sandwiches and soup. She'd thought it was for a picnic with the man she loved, but was beginning to realise that her plans and those of Quinn's were not exactly on the same wavelength.  
  
Helping Blair walk, Jim promised himself he'd make Eddie pay for every bruise he'd put on Blair's face and body.  
  
Before long they had a small fire started, and the water in the battered coffee pot was starting to bubble.  
  
Grudgingly, Quinn allowed Jim to settle Blair on one of the blankets, provided by Janet, and allowed them a mug of hot coffee to share between them.  
  
He took the precaution of getting Eddie to tie both men's ankles, then passed a rope around their chests linking them together, making it difficult for them to slip away.  
  
"I'm gonna catch a few zzz's," he said at last, "Eddie keep on eye on these two." Getting to his feet, he caught Janet's hand and led her off to the other side of the small fire.  
  
Pulling the girl down beside him on a blanket, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.  
  
"Dawson, not here, not now," Janet hissed, embarrassed as she glanced over at the smirking Eddie, and the silent detective.  
  
"Damn it, Janet, stop being such a prissy miss, you weren't so shy earlier on at your place."  
  
"We didn't have an audience, then," Janet retorted, squirming away.  
  
"Okay, suit yourself," snarled Quinn, shoving her violently away.  
  
Janet got up and flounced back to the fire, sitting down with her back towards Quinn.  
  
"Not a word, Eddie. Don't you say one word," she threatened softly to the grinning muscleman, who shrugged and raised his hands.  
  
Turning her attention to the captives sitting together on the blanket she'd tossed to them, she noticed the blood smeared across the younger man's face.  
  
Getting to her feet, she moved to the jeep, which could just be seen in the firelight, and rummaged around, coming back with a small first-aid kit.  
  
Opening it up, she cleaned the cuts and scratches on Blair's face and hands with antiseptic wipes, her own hands steady and professional. She closed the cut on his head with a butterfly clip and wrapped a gauze bandage around each of his bloody wrists.  
  
"Thank you," said Jim quietly.  
  
She flushed and shrugged. "You're welcome. There's no need for him to bleed if I can stop it."  
  
Blair was still very cold, although Jim had made him drink the major share of the coffee, but he appreciated the small kindness offered to him. "Thank you," he whispered.  
  
The girl nodded; packing up the little box she put it back in the jeep, and grabbing another blanket, she rolled herself up and settled down on the other side of the fire.  
  
During the hours that followed, while Blair dozed against his side, Jim watched carefully for any slip that would enable them to escape.  
  
Eddie, however, didn't seem to need sleep, he was vigilant, his eyes sweeping from the prisoners to the surrounding darkness, then across to where Janet was curled up a few feet from Quinn.  
  
As he watched and waited, Jim wondered how Simon and the rest of the people at the Ranger Station were handling his disappearance. It had been a possibility of course, but they were hoping that Jim would've been able to delay Quinn, keep Blair and himself alive and wait for back-up to show.  
  
* * *  
  
Simon had been furious - and worried, when Watson and his rangers in their own rough track vehicles, had guided himself and his detectives through the forest to arrive at the ambush site to find no trace of Jim, Blair, or the kidnappers.  
  
They found Rafe's car where Jim had left it. The engine cold and nothing to indicate what had happened.  
  
Simon could envisage Jim being ordered out of the car, but not what had happened then. Had Jim been hurt; had Sandburg been there?   
  
They hadn't heard any sounds of shots being fired; no blood in Rafe's car, or on the ground as far as they could see. Everyone had disappeared from the road, and there were no reports of any vehicle heading past this point in the last four hours.   
  
Ranger Watson then found fresh signs where a jeep, or small truck had left the road and headed up the track previously noted by Jim.  
  
"They must have at least a good half an hour start, Captain Banks. Do you want us to follow in the morning. It's too dark now to track them."  
  
"We can't get too close anyway," sighed Banks. "If Quinn even suspects that he's being followed, he'll kill them both and just take off."  
  
"I wouldn't worry too much, Captain, you said that Detective Ellison was an officer in the Rangers, he should be more than a match for Quinn and his motley crew."  
  
"Normally, yes. I'd back Ellison against Quinn any day, but we're not dealing with a straight deck here, Watson. Quinn has at least two people helping him, and Ellison won't even try to escape unless he can bring Sandburg out with him. He won't leave the kid."  
  
Watson nodded thoughtfully, he fully understood about partners and friendships.  
  
"Okay then, what are your orders, Captain?"  
  
"Can we at least follow the track, using dipped lights? If we can shorten the distance a little, it would help, but we have to keep it very quiet."  
  
Watson rubbed his chin, then shrugged. "Won't be easy... the moon will be up in a little while, so that will give us some light to see the track, but that won't last very long if the trees get thicker. Don't think using lights would be wise, if they see even a dim flash it will alert them to someone else being out here, plus sounds carry further at night. Wouldn't really advise it."   
  
Simon nodded resignedly, he'd expected as much. "Okay, you tell us when to go, I'll brief the others."  
  
He sure hoped that Jim and Blair were together, and that Ellison could work his magic and get them both out.  
  
* * * *  
In the early light of dawn, Jim shifted slightly, his legs were stiff from being tied in the same position all night and his back ached from the rough log he'd been leaning against, and saw Eddie's eyes swivel round to him at once,.  
  
Damn! that man was an alert bastard. Didn't he ever sleep? Reminded Jim of a group of mercenaries he'd come across during his stint in the Army. They had been hard and ruthless men. Maybe Eddie was of that same breed.  
  
Sandburg shifted beside him, raising his head from Jim's shoulder. "Jim?" he queried softly.  
  
"Yeah. How're you doing?"  
  
"Okay. A bit stiff and sore." He shifted again, turning his head to speak sentinel soft, he asked, "Any plans for getting us away?"  
  
"Plenty of plans, Chief," murmured Jim softly. "But Eddie is a very wide-awake guard. Maybe our best bet would be when we're on the move again."  
  
Sandburg nodded and tried to stretch his leg muscles. "Ow..."   
  
"Stop whining, kid," Eddie said. "You'll be getting plenty of exercise later on."  
  
Sandburg felt Jim tense beside him, and spoke up to deflect any trouble away from his friend. "Huh, I'd like to see you be tied up as long as we have, and not feel cramped, you know how many muscles are ..."  
  
"Shut-up," snarled Eddie.  
  
 _Hm,_ thought Jim, _maybe he's not as happy with the situation, either._  
  
Quinn's voice cut through the cold, damp air. "Both of you, shut-up."  
  
He tossed his blanket aside and walked over to stir the embers of the fire that had been kept burning by Eddie. The stack of wood that had been collected was almost gone, but there was enough to heat the coffee pot.  
  
Janet was awake by then and came to stand by the fire, spreading her hands to warm them.  
  
Half an hour later, they'd all had a cup of the hot brew, then one by one had gone into the trees to relieve themselves, even the prisoners, who had been escorted one at a time, with no opportunity for Jim to sneak himself and Blair away.  
  
Instead of tying them together again, Eddie tied Jim's hands behind his back and forced him to sit down, while Quinn kept a gun pointed at Blair's head, then herded Blair towards the jeep, where Janet was waiting.  
  
Once there, he pushed him into the rear seats, tied Blair's ankles together and his hands in front, then came back to take over guarding Jim.  
  
"Okay, Ellison," Quinn said, coming to stand in front of Jim, "this is how it's gonna be. I'm taking Teach up ahead with me and Janet. Eddie is going to stay here with you for an hour, or two, then he's going to turn you loose. He's ex-army too, and spent a lot of time out in Africa as a mercenary, so if you can stay ahead of him and catch up with us before the kid here runs out of time, you can both hike out of here."  
  
Jim tensed. "What'do you mean? Run out of time? Where are you going?"  
  
"Well, that's for you to find out. Oh don't worry, it will take me some time to fix it all up, I wouldn't want you to miss out on the finale, so to speak. I only wish that bastard Banks was here as well, that would be the icing on the cake."  
  
Jim started to get to his feet, his hands clenched into tight fists behind his back.   
  
"Ah ah, don't make him angry, he doesn't like you either." Quinn shook his finger, then pointed it at Eddie who had his gun levelled straight at Jim. "You're supposed to be a good **detective** ," he made the word sound like the vilest epithet, "so detect."  
  
With that, he turned and got into the jeep, Janet beside him. She wouldn't look at any of them, keeping her head down.  
  
Jim looked at Blair who was staring back at him, "Stay loose, Chief, I'll come to get you."  
  
Sandburg nodded, trying desperately not to show his fear, but Jim could see the faint tremors in his limbs, saw him swallow nervously; and yet, his eyes, big and very blue, were also strangely calm at hearing Jim's words. He had faith that whatever happened, he knew that his sentinel, his friend, would never desert him.  
  
The engine roared into life and the jeep disappeared around a curve in the track.  
  
Eddie spent a little time, packing a backpack he'd taken from the jeep; a blanket, tin mug, basic camping supplies, but no food, Jim noticed, then doused the fire, making sure it was out.  
  
Finishing up, the burly man sauntered over to where Jim was sitting, hunched forward, his knees bent. "So, cop, you think you have a hope in hell of getting away from me?"  
  
"We'll just have to see, won't we?" He shifted slightly, getting his feet planted firmly on the wet ground. "You know where Quinn is going? Or is he keeping you in the dark, leaving you to do the dirty work, as usual."  
  
"This isn't dirty work," sneered the mercenary. "This is gonna be a pleasure. Quinn and me go back a long way. As soon as he's finished with you, we'll be headed into Canada, there's money waiting for us there, and I will get my share."  
  
"Don't hold your breath," said Jim. "Quinn is a cold-blooded killer, and I've seen what happens to the people who help him. One is in jail, two are dead, and the guy who helped break him out, got tossed out of a chopper because he couldn't hold on."   
  
Eddie snarled. "More fool him. I've survived in a lot more dangerous situations than that. I'll get my share, then Quinn and me will part company. I don't intend to stick around after I get my money. Eddie Walters is not an idiot, nobody's lapdog."  
  
"When you're no longer of use to him, he'll get rid of you," Jim said calmly, "I just hope that Janet manages to stay alive through this, I doubt that you will."  
  
"Shut up," yelled Eddie, raising the gun over the seated man's head, taking a step closer, which proved to be a big mistake.  
  
Jim rolled backwards, his long legs sweeping Eddie's limbs out from under him. The mercenary fell sideways, his head and right shoulder hitting a fallen log making him drop the gun which disappeared into the soft underbrush.  
  
Still on his back, Jim squirmed around until he could pull his bound hands over his butt and legs, then in a move worthy of an acrobat, rolled to his feet.  
  
By this time, Eddie had regained his own feet and was coming at Jim with a length of broken tree branch.  
  
For a few minutes the two men sparred, with Jim dodging the sharp edges of the broken wood, and Walters becoming more and more frustrated at his inability to pin the taller man down. Then as Eddie lunged forward, Jim feinted to the left, and as Eddie moved to counter that, Jim ducked under the swing and punched hard into Eddie's sternum with his fists, causing the mercenary to stumble back, wheezing as his breath was forced out. As he swayed, Jim kicked out, catching him on the kneecap and the other man went down on his knees. Jim then swung his bound fists against the side of Eddie's head, sending him sprawling, and followed up with a foot stamping down on his wrist, making him release the branch. As the mercenary struggled to get up, Jim finished him off with a double-handed blow to the back of the neck, knocking him senseless.  
  
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Jim then bent over the unconscious form. Making sure that the other man wasn't faking, Jim swiftly went through his pockets, finding a knife in a leather sheaf on his belt, spare ammunition, a set of brass knuckle-dusters, another small knife tucked inside his jacket, a wallet and keys. The wallet held a worn driving licence in the name of Edward Dennis Walters.  
  
Making use of the smaller knife, Jim lost no time in cutting the rope from his wrists, flexing his fingers in relief, then used the rope to tie the recovering man's hands and feet.  
  
Pausing to take some much needed deeper breaths and stretch aching muscles, Jim debated whether to go and find his cache of supplies, which he reckoned was within two miles of his present position, or to follow Quinn and his partner.  
  
His eyes falling on the spare clips of ammo he'd taken from Eddie, he spent a few minutes searching for the gun. He found it fairly easily, having a good idea of where it might have fallen, and after checking it over and finding it in good working order, he put the spare ammo in his pocket, along with the other weapons, and walked across to his prisoner, who was coming round and swearing a blue streak.   
  
Picking up the licence he'd dropped beside his prisoner, he flicked it open, then said. "Edward Dennis Walters, huh. Bet you have a long rap sheet."   
  
Dropping the little square of plastic back on the ground, he added. "You should really learn not to lose your temper, y'know, Dennis, gives the other guy an advantage."  
  
"Go to Hell," the mercenary snarled.  
  
"Not before you," Jim said flatly. "Now I want to know what Quinn meant? What does he want with Blair?"  
  
Walters sneered. "Go and find out. Oh," he smirked. "You don't know where they are."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do," said Jim. "There's an abandoned mine about a two, maybe two and a half hour's trek from here. It's where Quinn hid the money from his last job."  
  
Walters' smirk disappeared. "How...?"  
  
"I've just realised that's what he meant. What I don't know is what he wants Blair there for."  
  
Walters shrugged. "He didn't specify, but I know it ain't gonna be pretty." He showed his teeth again in a snarl. "He hates you that much."  
  
"Yep, already figured that out."   
  
Without even trying, Jim's memory sped back to that terrible day when Blair had been shot, and the aftermath. Hearing the volley of shots from the crazed hunter seeing Sandburg start to fall as he was hit by one of the bullets. Of how he and Simon had swept the younger man up, and between them had made for the only shelter available, the mine shaft.   
  
Remembering Blair, trying to be brave, his young face grey with pain and his own frantic efforts to stop the bleeding from the wound in his thigh. Crouching in the dark cold of that tunnel, hearing the footsteps of Quinn and his new ally coming closer, cursing the fact he had only one bullet left.  
  
The agonising decision to leave Blair and Simon in the tunnel and try to find a way out of the back.  
  
The relief when he'd emerged into the sunshine, that emotion turning to despair when he'd arrived back in the clearing to see Simon at the tunnel mouth, desperately supporting Blair, and Quinn, a smile of wanton cruelty on his face as he prepared to shoot them down.  
  
His own desperate reaction to that scene, his vision homing onto the gunpowder shack, and his single bullet setting off a chain reaction which had sent everyone in the clearing sprawling to the ground.   
  
Again, he saw himself charging Quinn, knocking him away from the weapons and the fight he'd had with the killer.  
  
He could see his fingers around Quinn's neck as he bent him backwards over the old well, feeling the hate, the sheer rage against this man who had robbed a young man of his life; Gil Brodie, who'd had a bright and promising future, murdered and tossed out into a trash bin like unwanted rubbish; wanting to toss the killer down into the depths. His training as a police officer to uphold the law, as much as Simon's presence, had made him loosen his hold and pull Quinn back from the edge, but he could see again the fear and hatred in the killer's eyes.   
  
"Oh God," he murmured. He knew now what Quinn intended for his guide, could feel it like the instinct which raised the hairs on the back of his neck.  
  
Turning away, Jim set off down the trail at a fast lope, hearing Eddie's yells behind him.   
  
"Ellison, don't you leave me here, damn you. Ellison!"  
  
Jim turned briefly. "My back-up will be along soon, they'll take care of you."  
  
Tuning out the mercenary's yells and curses, Jim concentrated on getting to the clearing as fast as he could.  
  
* * * *  
  
A few miles back along the track, Simon and his party were moving more quickly now as the light strengthened. Ranger Watson led the way with one of his men, while the other one brought up the rear behind the Cascade detectives.  
  
They had abandoned their own vehicles earlier on, when Simon feared the engines might be heard by Quinn.  
  
They'd spent an uncomfortable night, although they had warm blankets and supplies, none of the Major Crime detectives had been able to sleep; too worried about their friends and given Sandburg's ability to find trouble in any situation, they just hoped the grad student was with Jim and alive and well.  
  
Holding up his hand in a signal to halt, Watson pulled a map from his pocket and beckoned Simon up beside him, the others taking the time for a brief rest.  
  
"Captain Banks, this is where we are now; the track goes on for a few miles, before it turns back on itself, then curves again to follow the river."  
  
He pointed out the salient spots and Simon nodded, his forehead creasing as something tickled his memory.  
  
He pointed at a small dot on the map, "Is that an old mine shaft, here?"  
  
Watson nodded, a brow rising questioningly. "Yes, I do believe it is. Hasn't been worked for years though."  
  
Simon nodded. "I think I know where Quinn is heading. This is where he hid the money from that armed robbery he's doing time for - was - doing time for," he corrected with a grimace.  
  
"Why would he head back there? Didn't you get all the money back when you arrested him? I remember hearing about that manhunt although I wasn't personally involved in it."  
  
"Yeah, we got it all back. But I think this is more about revenge than anything to do with money, not at this stage anyway. He's leading Detective Ellison back to that clearing, I'm sure of it. I just don't know what he has in mind, but I can guarantee, it won't be for a social occasion."   
  
Watson nodded and studied the map for some minutes. "If you're sure about the destination, we can save some time by leaving the track and cutting through the forest here, and come out back of the old mine."  
  
Simon frowned. "That sounds fine, but I don't want to miss any clues that my detective might be able to leave behind on this track."  
  
"We could split up. I can send Samson and Corbett with a couple of your men, they can stay on the track, and I can take you through the forest. That way we'd have both covered."  
  
Simon nodded his agreement. "Yes, that's what we'll do."  
  
Turning to his own men he called them over. "Brown, I want you and Rafe to go with Rangers Corbett and Samson. Joel and I are going to go with Watson, here, to this clearing."  
  
Having made sure that everyone had the map co-ordinates and knew where they were going, the party split up.  
  
* * * *  
  
Blair stumbled for about the fifth time in as many minutes, going down hard on his face, his bound hands too numb to break his fall.  
  
He felt Quinn loom over him and felt the kick in his side. "Get up, you little shit. Don't make me drag you all the way."  
  
"Dawson, please. He can't balance with his hands tied up. He's injured, maybe a rib or two cracked." Janet's frightened voice swept over him, and for a second Blair hoped that his captor would heed her.  
  
That was a vain hope, as Quinn turned on his lover. "Janet, keep your trap shut. It's bad enough you give aid and comfort to the enemy, without making me mad."  
  
"What'd you mean?" the girl gasped.  
  
"Making nice with the nursey thing." Quinn flicked a hand against the dirty bandages round his prisoner's wrists. Then his eyes narrowed as a thought struck him.  
  
Grinning cruelly, he pulled one of the bandages off the bruised wrist and dropped it on the ground in full view of anyone following them. "That should give Ellison something to think about."   
  
Nudging the student with a boot, he ordered. "Come on, you've had a rest, now get up and keep moving."  
  
Wearily Blair managed to get to his feet. They had left the jeep when the undergrowth had become too dense and it seemed as though he'd been staggering through the mud for hours, following a faint animal trail, although it couldn't have been more than thirty-forty minutes.   
  
Quinn urged him on with a prod in the back from the rifle muzzle and the painful trek continued. He could hear Janet behind him, her own breath sobbing as she tried to keep from crying out loud.  
  
* * * *  
Further back on the main track, Jim stopped for a quick rest. He'd decided to take precious time in locating his own supplies when it dawned on him that they were close to the track he was already on, and without food, or mainly water, he wouldn't be able to maintain the strenuous task he'd set himself. Plus, he might need the extra rations for Blair when he caught up.   
  
He'd been lucky enough to find his cache within twenty minutes, and was now back on the trail, fortified by a drink of water and an energy bar. The pack he carried was light enough not to slow him down, but held emergency rations and some dry socks and shirts for both himself and Blair.  
  
Although he was still in a hurry to get to Blair, his initial panic had abated; he realised that Quinn would wait for him to catch up before carrying out any permanent harm to the young man.  
  
Dropping into the lope he could maintain for hours, the sentinel set off to find his guide.  
  
* * * *  
  
Brown and Rafe, with the two Rangers guiding them, made good time as the light strengthened and the track remained fairly clear. The tracks of a jeep were easily seen and they continued without any sign of a break to indicate it had stopped.  
  
That is, until Ranger Corbett held up a hand in a signal to halt and as the others came up behind, he motioned ahead.  
  
"Looks like they stopped just up ahead for a while. Can't smell any engine heat, or gas, but they might still be here, so we'd better go slowly."  
  
The others nodded and proceeded cautiously until Samson who'd taken the lead held up a hand. "Listen," he whispered, "someone is cursing like a sailor whose shore-leave has been cancelled."   
  
Rafe and Henry shared a look, then nodded, they could hear the hoarse voice now. It was damning a certain detective to hell and worse.   
  
The detectives grinned at each other. Looked as though Ellison had pissed off someone else - again.  
  
A short time later, they came to a small clearing and stood looking down at a man lying bound hand and foot.  
  
He stopped his rambling curses on what he would do to Ellison when he caught up with him and stared up at the two uniformed men, then turned his eyes to the other two men who, in his experience, looked like plain-clothed cops.  
  
"Ah, shit," he muttered.  
  
Brown grinned cheerfully at him, while Rafe bent to pick up the wallet which was lying on the ground.  
  
"Edward Dennis Walters, hmm. Well Mr. Walters, what's been happening here, and where is Detective Ellison?"  
  
Walters scowled and shrugged as well as he could with his arms bound behind him. "Don't know what you're talkin' about. I'm the victim here, all tied up... why don't you cut me loose?"  
  
"Why should we?" said Brown. "You won't help us, we don't have to help you."  
  
The two young rangers looked at each other, eyebrows raised.  
  
Rafe sighed and took out his radio; they'd all been issued with individual ones. "Captain Banks? You reading me?"  
  
A few moments passed, then the small device crackled and their boss' voice could be heard. "Yeah, Rafe, what is it?"  
  
"I think we've found Eddie."  
  
"What? Anyone else ... is Jim there?"  
  
"No, but he's certainly been here. From what I can gather, there was a fight, Eddie is sporting bruises and is all tied up."  
  
"Okay." There was silence while Simon considered what was the best thing to do.   
  
"Stay there with him, have Corbett stay as well, then tell Brown and Samson to continue along the track. Hopefully, we'll all meet up at the mine. Here's Ranger Watson..."  
  
Rafe's face fell. He really wanted to continue to track his friends, but someone would have to stay with the prisoner.  
  
He handed the radio over to Corbett, and heard him accept his orders from his superior.   
  
"Yes, sir. We'll stay with the prisoner, till you call again." He turned to his friend. "Well, Sam... looks like you're going hunting a bit further afield."  
  
The younger man grinned. "Cool," he said.  
  
Brown and Rafe tensed as they heard a whisper of Blair's bouncy tone. Come to think of it, the ranger didn't look much, if any, older than the grad student they were seeking. He was taller and had fair hair, but the eager manner was familiar to anyone who knew Blair Sandburg.  
  
Not realising that he'd said anything amiss, Samson hitched his pack higher on his shoulders, and started up the track again.  
  
"Hold on, a minute," called Brown. "Rafe, you take care, don't take any chances with this guy. From what we've learned, he's a mean son-of-a-bitch."   
  
"Yeah, I will. You do the same, partner." They slapped each other's shoulder, then Brown turned and waved Samson on ahead.  
  
Rafe turned to the man still lying on the ground. "Well, now, Eddie, what are we going to do with you?"  
  
"Cut me loose for one damn thing," Walters spit out.  
  
"All in good time, my man, all in good time." He turned to the grinning ranger. "How about a cup of coffee while I talk to this gentleman?"  
  
Corbett nodded. "That sounds doable."  
  
* * * *  
Jim had stopped again, this time he cautiously extended his senses, sending out his hearing, hoping to catch any human sound, especially that of his roommate; remembering to anchor himself to another sense to stop him from zoning. He took out his water bottle and slowly unscrewed the cap, while he tuned into the sounds of the forest. After a few minutes, he was disappointed that only natural sounds came to his ears, the drip of water from the leaves, courtesy of the recent rain shower; animals and birds; nothing human as yet.  
  
Taking a drink, he replaced the water bottle into his pack, then started off again, then stopped, and sniffed.  
  
Engine oil! He could smell engine oil.  
  
Moving quietly, gun in his right hand, he moved forward. Around a slight curve in the track he came upon the parked jeep. It looked as if it had run into some thick brushwood and had been abandoned there.  
  
Yes! Jim felt like pumping his arm in a victory salute. They were on foot. The engine was cold, but Jim's sensitive touch could detect a slight warmth, so they couldn't be too far ahead.  
  
He could move faster than the girl, and given Blair's mistreatment, he would be moving a lot slower too; he would definitely be able to catch up.  
  
Making a quick examination of the jeep, he saw that the rifle was missing, so was the little picnic box which had held sandwiches and bottled water, and the First Aid box Janet had used.  
  
Quinn was travelling light, he must think he could get more supplies later on.  
  
Wiping the rain and sweat off his brow, Jim started his mile-eating lope again, hope renewed that he would be able to catch up with Quinn before he could do more harm to his friend.  
  
* * * * *  
Quinn cursed viciously as the kid stumbled and fell again. Maybe he should've just put him out of his misery back at the camp site; but the plan he had made while sitting in his cell, of watching Ellison suffer, overcame that idea at once.  
  
Grabbing a handful of the long hair he jerked the student's head back and snarled into his face. "Get up, you piece of shit, or I'll just shoot you here and let Ellison find your worthless hide."  
  
Blair's eyes were scrunched shut at the painful hold; it felt like every hair was being ripped out individually, but the words hammered in his brain.   
  
Jim! He had to get up for Jim.   
Couldn't let his friend find him dead in this way.  
His partner would be so pissed off.   
Just a few more steps, take it a few more steps at a time.  
  
He managed to get to his knees, then as Quinn jerked on the rope tied round his waist, staggered to his feet, swaying with the effort he'd made.  
  
He was lost in a haze of pain, fear, and fatigue, he couldn't feel his hands, and with every breath he took pain flared in his chest. He really just wanted to lie down and sleep for a week - make that a month.  
  
When Jim came, he'd let him sleep, yes when Jim came everything would be fine.  
  
Another jerk on the rope had him lurching forward again, his thoughts spiralling away into fragmented spots of light and dark.  
  
Janet's thoughts were also in a whirl, her attraction to Quinn had begun a long time ago when she'd started to visit him in jail at the request of her friend, Lisa, who had been jailed for aiding and abetting a criminal to escape; and the danger when she'd helped him escape made her blood race in a thrilling manner she'd never experienced before. This side of the man however, wasn't sitting too well with her conscience.  
  
She had seen Blair a few times at the hospital, had even been on duty when he'd been kept in for a concussion, she didn't bear him any malice at all, and the way he was being treated by her ... her lover ... made her feel sick.  
  
Maybe it was time to review her own position here.  
  
* * *  
The scent of blood stopped Ellison in his stride, and his sight and smell zoomed onto a scrap of cloth lying on the trampled grass. A couple of miles back, he'd found where Quinn had left the broader track and cut through the trees, apparently following a narrow game trail.  
  
Picking up the bloody scrap, he recognised it for one of the bandages Janet had put around Blair's wrist. Looking further, he found a clump of hair on the end of a broken branch, long and curly, definitely coming from his friend's head.  
  
His fist clenched around the pathetic scrap, Jim had to fight against yelling his rage at the canopy of trees overhead; he had to keep his emotions in check, as he'd told Blair months ago; but it was going to be a lot harder to do when his friend was hurt and in peril.  
  
The scent was quite fresh, so he knew he was closing in on his quarry, and if Quinn had hurt Blair any further, he would face a sentinel's rage. The detective would take a back seat from then on.  
  
* * * *  
Simon Banks stopped as the man ahead of him raised his hand, then turned to signal Joel who was bringing up the rear.  
  
"What is it? Bill?" he asked quietly.  
  
Watson beckoned him closer. "We're almost at the mine, the rear end of it anyhow. Do you know of a way through? Or do we have to circle round it?"  
  
"Jim, er Detective Ellison found a way through, but I'm not sure about it now." He paused. "It will save time if we can find our way through, won't it?"  
  
"Yes", agreed Watson. "We have flashlights, and we can at least try it."  
  
Joel nodded when Banks turned to ask his opinion. "Yes, I think it's worth a try, Simon. From what you told us the last time, Jim didn't come across any rock falls or places that were blocked."  
  
"Okay, then. We go through if we can," decided Simon.  
  
Watson just nodded and turned to lead the way.  
  
* * * *  
Quinn dragged his prisoner into the clearing and let him drop to the ground, then stood for a moment to look around the scene of his earlier defeat.   
  
That bitter episode was going to be wiped out in the next few hours, then he was on his way to Canada, and freedom. Whether Janet would be accompanying him was a matter he'd deal with later. She had done what he asked so far, but she was a little too picky for his tastes, not like Lisa, who'd helped him before. That was one tough little cookie, and didn't have a lot of morals holding her back. It was a pity he hadn't been able to get her out of jail as well as himself, but that was the way it was, no time for regrets. He'd never had any trouble attracting women of a certain age and disposition, not any as respectable as his current lover though, but he had doubts she would last the course.  
  
The clearing looked much the same, the old well with part of the stonework broken away; the black hole of the mine shaft, and the debris from the shattered store house which had housed the gunpowder scattered over the muddy ground.   
  
Yes, this was the place he'd have his revenge on the detective who'd been a thorn in his side for far too long.  
  
Yanking Sandburg to his feet, he dragged him over to the old well. That had been a great hiding place for the stolen money; pity it had all been taken away from him by that frigging Ellison.  
  
Dropping the young man beside the broken stonework surrounding the well, Quinn propped the rifle beside him and sat on the edge and looked down at the white face, the long hair hanging over his brow, blocking most of his expression.   
  
"Hey, kid," he prodded the recumbent body with the toe of his boot. "Remember this place, huh? It's a bit of a shambles since Ellison blew it to hell and gone, but the mine shaft is still there.. and this lovely old well. Remember the mine, huh? Got a bit smoky in there for a while, didn't it?"  
  
Blair was too tired to more than glance up at his tormentor, but the words registered. He remembered the smoke filled tunnel; how wet and cold it had been, although that had been preferable to the smoke that had made their eyes sting, had choked and clogged their lungs, making it impossible to breathe. How his leg had throbbed and burned with pain, especially when they'd had to move out to the entrance.  
  
He shivered, with more than the cold and damp clothes; that memory was one he could do without.  
  
"Nothing to say, huh? Okay, let's get this show on the road. Wouldn't want the Caped Crusader to arrive before I've set the stage."  
  
He went to the other side of the well, and dragged out a rucksack hidden beneath a pile of loose stones. From this he pulled a roughly-made harness and before Blair became aware of his intentions Quinn had the straps over his shoulders and belted under his arms.   
  
Untying the rope from around his captive's waist, Quinn threw it over a wooden beam which had once held a large bucket, then attached it to a hook on the harness and hauled the student to his feet.  
  
"Hey, what're you doing?" croaked Blair as he was pulled onto his tiptoes, then off his feet altogether. He glanced down and the scream of panic froze in his throat. He was paralysed with fear.   
  
He was dangling directly over the open well shaft; all he could see was wet, black, walls which seemed to disappear into the bowels of the earth. His eyes tried to pierce the darkness and then glazed over, unwilling to face that awful drop into nothingness. His weak struggles ceased and he hung there, silent, vulnerable, his whole body and mind in retreat from the horrors of his present position.  
  
Quinn braced himself against the stone wall and tied off the rope, leaving the slim body swaying back and forth.  
  
"Dawson! what're you doing?" cried Janet, her expression horror-stricken as she stared at the young man hanging above the open well.  
  
"Told you, setting the stage for Ellison," he said, grinning in satisfaction.   
  
"But that's so dangerous," she cried. "What if the rope breaks?"  
  
Quinn turned to look at her in amazement. "Are you really that stupid? That's the whole idea."   
  
He turned, patting the wooden beam supporting the rope. "Eddie came here a couple of days ago, left some supplies and set this up for me. At first I was gonna hang Ellison up here, but this is better. Get him all worried for his friend here, then watch him beg for his life; yeah that will be great. Then I'll watch his face when I drop the kid down the well. Oh yes, Mr High and Mighty Ellison, that will be sweet revenge."  
  
Janet opened her mouth, then closed it as she saw the cruelty and sheer madness in his expression.  
  
Oh God! She'd sold herself to the devil, and was reaping the reward for her foolishness.  
  
She staggered back, not knowing where she was going, she just had to get out of here. Anywhere ... just away from this man she'd thought loved her and was going to start a new life with.  
  
She felt sick with loathing and fear, and a deep regret that she'd ever met up with him.  
  
She screamed as a hand closed over her arm, dragging her round to face the demon.   
  
It spoke: "Janet, Janet, get a grip, girl. After this we'll do anything you want. Remember we have plans, go to Canada, get that money owed me; yes, everything will be great."  
  
He smoothed a hand down her back, hugging her to his chest, trying to kiss her.  
  
Janet felt as though she was going to go mad, then several things happened at the same time.  
  
She felt Quinn tense, then he whirled her round keeping an arm across her shoulder and chest, then stepped back until he was within reach of the tied-off rope. His pistol was in his other hand pointing across the clearing. "Ellison? How the hell did you get here so fast?"  
  
With wide, fear dilated eyes, she saw the detective walking slowly across the muddy ground, his own gun pointing at Quinn.   
  
"Guess your hired help wasn't as good as you, or he, thought," he said steadily.  
  
His heart was pounding and a red rage was making it hard to keep his voice even. He'd followed the trail, easily spotting the trampled grass and marks made by the three people he was following.  
  
He'd just got to the edge of the clearing, stopping just inside the tree-line to observe what was going on. His heart had almost stopped when he saw the limp body of his partner swaying above the open mouth of the well.  
  
Hearing Quinn's ranting about what he intended, had him ready to just shoot the killer, but the girl was too close, and Quinn had only to reach out, pull the rope loose, or just cut it, and send Blair to his death. He had to get much closer.  
  
Every protective instinct in him was screaming for him to charge forward, get his hands round Quinn's throat, and this time not stop until the madman was dead. Instead he forced himself to move steadily forward, hoping to get a bit nearer before being spotted.   
  
Quinn, though, must've sensed his approach, or more likely caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye when he'd grabbed the girl, in any event, he was now aware of Jim's approach and was ready for him.  
  
"Stop right there, Ellison," Quinn snarled, edging backward slightly. He looked round, this wasn't how he'd planned it, but it would still work. "Drop the gun."  
  
Ellison shook his head, and took another step forward. "You're going down Quinn. This little jaunt of yours is over; we've got Walters and you're on foot. My back-up will be here in minutes, so there's nowhere for you to go."  
  
Quinn sneered, even though his eyes darted in all directions. "Can't see anyone but you, cop. Now drop the gun, and get on your knees. I want to hear you beg, like you made me beg, for your life, and the kid's."   
  
Ellison shook his head. "Not a chance. I heard you, whatever I say, you'll still kill him."  
  
"Maybe not," sneered the killer, tightening his grip on his living shield. "Depends on how prettily you beg."  
  
Jim froze for a second, if he could just get a little bit closer; he couldn't risk a shot with the girl in front of Quinn, but he knew if he showed any hesitation at all, let his aim waver, the maddened killer would kill again.  
  
"Come on, Ellison. Do your puppy-dog begging routine, or I'll ..."  
  
"You'll do what, Quinn?" Another voice cut through the damp air.   
  
The killer swung round in shock as he recognised Banks' voice.   
  
The tall Chief of Major Crime was standing outside the entrance of the mine, with two other men beside him. All held guns ready in their hands.  
  
"No. You stay back, or I swear I'll put a bullet in the girl."  
  
"You'll be dead a second later," said Banks.  
  
"No," Quinn swung back to find that Ellison had taken advantage to shorten the distance between them, and he snapped.   
  
Still holding Janet as a shield in front of him, he changed his aim to the tied off rope and fired, half severing the rope which started to fray rapidly, then backed away towards the trees, as Banks and the other two men started to run.   
  
"NO" Jim's scream of denial and rage almost stopped the others in their tracks.   
  
Jim lunged forward, jumping the last couple of feet, his long arms sweeping up to catch the end of the rope as it slipped over the beam supporting it, and was dragged along to slam up against the low wall. Trying desperately to hold onto his precious cargo as Blair's weight pulled him further over the edge.   
  
Jim managed to brace one foot, then the other against the wall, and the downward plunge halted, but Jim knew that situation wouldn't hold for long; he could feel the stones shifting under his feet, and he was in danger of following his friend and guide into the darkness, but he wouldn't let go; he'd never let go.   
  
Than Joel's strong arms were round his waist pulling him back and another pair of hands were on the rope. Swiftly the two men hauled Blair's body up to the top, and while Simon held on, Jim let go the rope and quickly pulled his friend over the broken wall and staggered back with him in his arms.  
  
Collapsing on the ground, he quickly checked the pulse in Blair's throat; he'd been concentrating so hard on Blair's heartbeat in the strain of the past few seconds, that he wasn't sure now if he'd heard it, he just had to make doubly sure it was still there.  
  
"Jim, Jim, is he okay?"  
  
Simon's voice pulled him back from his almost zone.  
  
Jim nodded, speechless, and Simon put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get these ropes off him."  
  
Jim nodded again and gently cradled the curly head as his boss took off the harness. "Blair, come on Chief. You in there?"   
  
He tapped the ashen cheeks gently, but there was no response. Blair's face was grey, his lips almost bloodless; his breathing so faint Jim had to focus to hear it; but the pulse was there, and the sentinel could hear the breath wheezing in his lungs; his guide was alive, but in need of hospital treatment.  
  
It was his eyes which worried Jim the most, half open, staring and blank, no spark or expression in their blue depths at all.  
  
"Come on Chief. You're safe now. Everything is okay. Come on back."  
For long minutes, he slowly rocked the cold, slim body, trying to instil a little warmth into his friend.   
  
"We'll get him home, Jim. He'll be fine once he's home," Banks' voice almost beseeched Jim for confirmation.  
  
"Yes, sir." Jim's face was open and vulnerable, an expression Simon hadn't seen much of in recent months.  
  
Then just in a blink, the stone expression was back, and the blue eyes glinted like ice. "Where's Quinn?" he almost whispered.  
  
"Er.." Banks looked round. Truth be told, he'd almost forgotten the killer in his worry for his 'observer'.  
  
"Watson went after him," Joel said, stroking Blair's shoulder, massaging the taut muscles there.  
  
"He's mine," Jim said coldly.   
  
Gently depositing Blair into Joel's waiting arms, he stroked the bruised face again, then got to his feet.  
  
"Ellison!" The captain's voice was sharp. "We'll go after him. Henry should be here soon and we can get Blair back to the road and to a hospital."  
  
"Quinn will have time to escape, sir. I have to stop him now before he hurts anyone else."  
  
"He's on foot with a girl who can't travel very fast; we'll get him."  
  
"He'll dump that girl first chance he gets, maybe hurt her as well. He's mad, sir. You saw that. He's off the rails entirely now."  
  
"Watson will track, him. We'll find him, besides you can't leave Blair like this. The kid needs you."  
  
Jim wavered, his captain had a point; but it was because he didn't want Blair, or anyone else to risk being hurt by Quinn again, that he had to go after him.  
  
The raised voices seemed to come from a long way off, yet Blair knew he needed to pay attention. It was important. But he was afraid; he hated, absolutely loathed heights, and if he opened his eyes, or tried to move, he knew he'd fall.   
  
But he wasn't hanging in space over a dark hole any more, he was lying fairly flat. Someone warm was holding him, gently stroking his face and neck. It was nice. Nice to be warm and... and what had the familiar voice said? Safe, he was safe.  
Could he really trust that he was safe? He was so tired of being cold and scared and in pain.  
  
If he was safe, that meant Jim was nearby, Jim had said he'd come get him.  
Jim always came for him when he was in trouble; even on a dark, rainy night when his car had broken down. Sometimes, he didn't even get the lecture about unreliable old junk heaps.  
  
He relaxed a little into the arms holding him; he'd just rest a little bit more ... but this wasn't Jim.   
Whoever it was he knew it was a friend, but it wasn't his sentinel.   
Why? Was Jim being sent away?  
He had to open his eyes, had to know that Jim was safe too; he tried hard.   
  
"J'm?" The barely audible croak stopped both men in their argument, and in a second, Jim was kneeling on the ground, taking Blair's hands in his own.  
  
"Blair? You in there?"  
  
"Huh?" He didn't understand, of course he was in here; it was his body wasn't it? Sure, it was bruised, ached a lot and was cold, but it was his, least he thought it was.  
  
"Open your eyes, Chief. Let's see if you're really awake."  
  
"Oh." He thought he had opened them, apparently not wide enough. Trying hard, his lids fluttered open, then closed again. He was very tired.  
  
"Okay, Chief. I get the message. You're too tired."  
  
Jim's voice sounded a bit strange, choked up a little. Was he getting a cold?  
  
Blair nodded slightly, and he heard the sound of relieved chuckles, albeit weak ones.  
  
"Home?"  
  
"Yes, Chief. You're going home, as fast as we can get you there."  
  
Jim felt light-headed with relief, his guide was alive and aware. From the way he'd hung from that rope, still and silent, he'd thought for a moment, his spirit had gone, battered and worn down by the torment of the past few hours.  
  
That one glance, showing a sliver of blue, had meant that Blair was there, aware, and in his right mind; that was worth more to Jim than a king's ransom.   
  
There was one more thing he had to do before he could relax.   
"Blair, listen to me. Can you understand? I have to go after Quinn. He's armed and could get away. I don't want anyone else getting hurt by him. Joel and Henry are going to take you to the hospital, and I'll meet you there when I get Quinn."  
  
A frown creased Blair's wide forehead, and his fingers tightened weakly over the strong ones holding his. "No ... not sane... kill you ..."  
  
"I know, Chief, I know. I'll be careful, but I **have** to go get him. You know I have to do this."  
  
From some deep core inside, Blair found the strength to open his eyes and met the pleading gaze of his sentinel.  
  
The exchange lasted a moment that seemed to stretch to infinity as dark blue eyes met and held the lighter crystal ones.   
  
Something strange, yet familiar, flared between them, never to be consciously acknowledged, as consent was asked for and given.  
  
Then Blair blinked and nodded. "Careful... " he murmured. "Promise... you be careful."  
  
"I promise, Blair. I'll be very careful. He won't win this time either."  Jim squeezed the hands in his, then gently let go.   
  
As Blair's eyes closed again wearily, Jim stroked the hair back from the tired, dirty face, then stood up.  
  
"Ellison..." Simon started to yell, then paused, looking down at the student lying quietly in Joel's arms. "Jim...you sure about this?"  
  
"Very sure, sir. Blair understands that I have to go, and I have to go now, before he gets too far ahead."  
  
Simon's broad shoulders slumped. "Okay, guess I know it too. Once Henry gets here to help with Blair, I'll come with you."  
  
"I have to go NOW, Simon. I can travel faster by myself, and Watson is out there too, he's armed and knows these woods. He can help if I need it."  
  
Simon wanted to protest, to insist on waiting for extra help, but he knew how dangerous Quinn was, and any delay might just put someone else in danger.  
  
"Okay, Jim. I don't like it but I won't stop you. Have you got everything you need?"  
  
"Yes," Jim nodded to his pack lying among the trees where he'd dropped it when he'd first arrived at the clearing.  
  
"Right, better take this," said Simon and handed over his own radio, "Watson made sure we all had one. Good luck."   
  
The two men shook hands, then Jim bent to touch Joel's shoulder. The seated man looked up and smiled.  
"I'll take good care of him for you, Jim."  
  
Jim nodded once, then with a wave, moved quickly to pick up his pack, then vanished into the forest.  
  
Simon stood staring after him, then sighed. "Hope I've done the right thing, Joel."  
  
"You couldn't really have stopped him, Simon. If anyone can take Quinn down, you know that person is Ellison."  
  
"Yeah, maybe you're right. Now then, let's see about getting our 'Observer' here, some medical help."  
  
* * * *  
Jim easily picked up the trail left by Quinn and his reluctant hostage. Watson's prints overlapping them now and then when the ground was soft enough.  
  
Sending out his senses, he could hear varying sounds; a woman crying; someone else breathing heavily; and the scent of blood.  
  
Moving cautiously in case it was a trap, he came upon Janet kneeling beside a figure in a ranger uniform, her hands pressing down on his side; the shirt already red with blood.  
  
Not hearing, or sensing anyone else nearby, Jim hurried forward to kneel at her side. "What happened?" he asked grimly.  
  
"The Ranger tried to stop D..Dawson from hurting me. I thought he was going to kill me Detective... I'm so sorry... so very sorry..."  
  
"Okay, okay, let me see...."  
  
Watson groaned and opened his eyes as the girl lifted her hands away, then pressed them back again.  
  
"Ellison," he panted. "Sorry. Thought I could get him, he pulled a knife, didn't see it in time."  
  
"Take it easy Watson. I don't think it's too bad."  
  
He glanced at Janet and she nodded, seeming calmer now that there was someone else to help.  
  
"A nasty gash along his rib cage; don't think it has penetrated anything vital."  
  
"Good," Jim opened his pack and took out one of his spare shirts. Ripping it into pieces, he helped Janet make a pad, then tie the rest of the material tightly around Watson's torso. "Have you still got your radio?" he asked the ranger.  
  
Watson nodded, his face scrunched with pain. "Okay, tell Simon where you are, he and Henry will come and get you. I have to go after Quinn, you understand that?"  
  
"Sure," Watson waved him away weakly. "Go get the bastard."  
  
"Thanks," Jim was grateful for the man's understanding. He turned to Janet who was sitting listlessly against a tree trunk. "You wait here for Captain Banks, no running off. We haven't got time to go looking for you when you get lost."  
  
She nodded, then raised her tear-filled eyes. "I'm very sorry, detective. I had no idea what he was really like.... "   
  
"Yes, right. Just stay here with Ranger Watson." Jim pointed a stern finger, and the girl nodded.  
  
"I'll stay, don't worry about that."  
  
Jim picked up his pack and with a last nod at Watson, set off after his quarry.  
  
He was glad Watson wasn't too badly hurt, but it was one more strike against Quinn. One more reason to stop the killer from hurting anyone else.  
  
* * *  
For two hours he followed the track of the escaped criminal; Quinn seemed to be heading deeper into the forest, towards the range of thickly wooded hills that boarded the Forest Reserve.  
  
Jim could hear the sound of water now, a river or stream was close-by, and he slowed to a walk, wary of running into a trap with the water masking any sounds Quinn might make.  
  
A few yards further on, he came out of the trees onto a bare stretch of ground, it ran for about fifty yards, before ending in a cliff. The sound of water running through the narrow gorge came clearly to Jim's ears.   
  
Sitting near the edge of the cliff was the figure of Quinn. He was staring across at the other bank as though judging whether he could jump it or not. It was possible, thought Jim, but he didn't intend to let him try it.   
  
Jim took out his gun, and shouted. "Quinn."  
  
The man turned his head, and cursed. "Ellison, might've known it would be you. Thought I'd seen the last of you, but I guess that was too much to ask for."  
  
"Take that gun out and throw it over the cliff. Then get up. I'm taking you back to Cascade."  
  
Quinn shrugged then started to rise, favouring his right leg, it was then that Jim saw the bloody bandage wrapped around the knee. Taking a closer look at the killer, he saw that he looked haggard, his clothes torn, his face and hands scratched.   
  
"I said, take the gun out and drop it over the edge," warned Jim.  
  
Reaching round to his back, Quinn jibed. "How's your little friend. Did you get to him in time?"   
  
"Shut up. You made a mistake in going after Blair, Quinn. You should've just kept going."  
  
"Yeah? Maybe I should've."  
  
Suddenly, he lunged up, throwing the gun straight at Jim, then turned and ran towards the edge of the drop-off.   
  
Jim dodged the improvised missile and aimed his gun. "Quinn. Stop, or I'll shoot."  
  
The running man ignored him and as Jim hesitated to shoot him in the back, he reached the rim of the cliff, skidded in some loose gravel, and went over, with a scream of fear.   
  
Jim ran to the cliff edge and looked down, Quinn was hanging on to a large bush growing out the side, his toes dug into small cracks in the cliff wall.   
  
"Get me up, get me up," he yelled.  
  
Jim was really tempted to just leave him there, but that wouldn't really be the end of him. He'd probably survive the fall and they'd have to do this manhunt thing all over again.  
  
"Hang on, have to find something to haul you up with."  
  
There wasn't anything within sight, so Jim took off his belt, and wrapped it round his hand, then lowered himself to the ground, reaching down, the end of the belt hung within arm's reach of the frightened man.  
  
"Grab the belt," he called.  
  
Quinn looked up, then moving slowly, managed to grab the swaying leather. 

"Brace yourself and walk up," called Jim. "I can't pull you up."  
  
Swearing viciously, Quinn did as instructed, braced by the belt, and clutching handfuls of bush, he scrambled upwards till he could reach the solid lip.   
  
Hauling himself over the edge, he rolled over onto his back.  
  
Jim rose to his feet, replacing his belt in the loops, and stared down at Quinn.  
  
"Now, get up. We have a long hike back to the road."  
  
"Give me a minute, Ellison, I twisted my knee."  
  
"Tough," said Jim. "You're still going back if you have to crawl."  
  
Quinn glared murderously at him, but got to his feet, and started limping towards the trees only to collapse on the ground with a yell of pain.  
  
"I'm not falling for any of your tricks, Quinn. Get up, now."  
  
"I'm telling you, I think I must've busted my ankle when I fell."  
  
Jim cocked the gun, but Quinn just shook his head, "Can't walk," he whined.  
  
"Sit on your hands, palms up, legs straight out," Jim ordered. "One wrong move, and I'll shoot you where you sit. I've had enough of your tricks."  
  
Sullenly, Quinn did as ordered.  
  
Jim put his gun back in his holster and knelt down to examine the injured ankle.  
  
It was swollen, but not enough to stop him from walking.  
  
"Thought so, you're faking, now get up."  
  
Jim started to get up, then fell back when Quinn rolled sideways and kicked out with his injured leg, catching Jim in the side.   
  
Getting to his knees, the killer swung a punch at his off-balance captor which Jim blocked with an upraised foot.   
  
Quinn picked up a small rock and lashed out, catching Jim in the chest, then charged at him, both men crashing back to the ground as they each fought to constrain the other.   
  
For long moments they were locked together swapping punishing blows, the killer swearing continuously in a crazed undertone - what he was going to do to Ellison, his friends, his boss, his dog.   
  
Jim fought silently, savagely; his pent-up rage and hatred for this man who killed without remorse, without compassion for any living thing, fuelling his natural strength to where he felt invincible.  
  
Gradually, Jim's superior strength and stamina were taking their toll, Quinn was weakening, and he stopped swearing and tried to break off the struggle.  
  
Jim swung a last punch that dropped the killer to his knees and Quinn held up one hand in surrender.  
  
"Okay, stop."  
  
The detective stepped back, breathing heavily, but watching carefully.  It was as well he was wary, because Quinn had a weapon in his other hand; Jim's own gun had fallen from it's holster early in the fight and Quinn had found it under his right leg.  
  
Grinning evilly, he cocked it and levelled it at his nemesis, but before he could pull the trigger, Jim's long arm had lashed out and caught his wrist; the gun went off as the killer dropped it, the bullet narrowly missing the detective's head.  
  
Again, they fought for possession of the weapon, until Jim had Quinn in a combat- trained headlock. They strained together for another long minute, Quinn clawing and scratching at Jim's arm, then he sagged as the fight went out of him, and Jim knew he'd won, at least for the moment. But ... Quinn would never give up, never go willingly and he'd seek a way to hurt, or kill one, or more of them, every step of the way out of the forest - and he'd never stop trying to escape from prison. He was wily enough, determined enough, that he'd probably succeed - again.   
  
For one long, vital, second, the law-abiding detective in Jim hesitated, his arm still locked around Quinn's throat, as memories of everything that Quinn had done flashed through his mind; the lives the killer had taken, the misery and torment he'd caused to people Jim loved; to strangers caught up in his schemes and those who would suffer in the future at this vicious murderer's hands. Jim went still, then taking a deep breath, the warrior took over, did what he knew in his soul had to be done; strong hands moved with a fast, sharp twist, and Quinn dropped to the ground, his neck broken, his wickedness stilled for ever.  
  
As he let the body drop, Jim swallowed hard. Might not have been within the full intention of the law, but it was justice - and he could live with that.  
  
Breathing heavily, Jim picked up his gun and looked with icy eyes down at his enemy, then turned to start the long walk back to his friends. He felt no guilt over his actions; would have no guilt in the future.   
  
Quinn was like a rabid dog, not able, or willing, to change.  
  
Justice had been served.  
  
EPILOGUE:  
  
Two days later, Jim walked down a hospital corridor, a bag in his hands containing his roommate's clothes. Blair was being released today.  
  
He was still bruised and sore from the beating he'd taken from Eddie and Quinn, and the pressure of the harness against his cracked ribs; but his lungs were now clear and he was raring to get home.  The mental scars would take a little longer, but Jim would be there for him if things became too hard to bear alone.  
  
Eddie and Janet had been formally arrested and were awaiting a trial date.   
  
Janet was out on bail and Simon thought the DA would go easy on her. She would, of course, face charges of aiding and abetting a criminal to escape, but she had helped Blair and Watson, had stuck with the injured ranger until Simon, Henry and Samson had found them.   
  
Rafe and Corbett were relieved that everything had turned out for the best, they'd been worried when the others had returned with an unconscious Blair and the wounded Watson, and sorry that they'd missed out on being able to help.   
  
Watson was in the same hospital as Blair, he was already on the mend, and would be out in two days.   
  
Arrangements had been made for all three rangers to attend a poker night with most of the Major Crime gang at Simon's.   
  
After Jim had returned with the news of Quinn's death, things had moved swiftly. Radio calls had brought ambulances for the wounded; and forensic people to deal with the dead.  
  
With the evidence of Jim's own bruises and obvious signs of being in a fight, and with Quinn's reputation as a killer; his death was being ruled as accidental whilst resisting arrest.   
  
If Simon ever suspected that it had been a deliberate action on his detective's part, he kept that information to himself; not by word or look, did he question Jim's account of what had occurred, which was simple.   
  
Quinn had fallen over a cliff, Jim had rescued him; Quinn had faked an injury and whilst Jim was checking it out, a fight had started. Quinn had tried to kill Jim with his own gun and in the resulting struggle, Jim had killed him in self defence.   
  
If the investigating officers wondered if he could have subdued the escaped convict without killing him, it wasn't mentioned in any report.  
  
Simon was the one who had told Blair what had happened, when Jim had been required to go in to see Internal Affairs, and the grad student had gone white.  
  
"Is Jim in any trouble?"  
  
"No, Sandburg. Not really, they just want him to sign his statement."  
  
"Then it's over?"  
  
When the Captain had nodded, Blair blew out a breath of relief. "Good. It's bad enough that Jim had to kill him, no reason for him to get into trouble over it."  
  
When Jim learned what his partner had said, he decided to have a word with him. He didn't want Blair to worry.  
 _Now is as good a time as any_ , he thought as he opened the loft door and ushered his still talking partner inside.  
  
While they were sitting at the table, eating a late lunch, he said. "Simon tells me you were asking whether I was in trouble with IA," he began.  
  
Blair swallowed a piece of sweet and sour prawn and nodded. "Yes, I was a bit worried."  
  
Jim shrugged, spearing the last prawn. "No need. They were satisfied. I'm not in any trouble, Chief."  
  
"Good. Because that madman is SO not worth it."  
  
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Not your usual peaceable live-and-let-live style."  
  
Blair flushed. "Sorry, man. But I think that Quinn used up all his chances. He would've just gone on killing and making misery for lots of other folk."  
  
He looked over at his partner, his protector. "I'm sorry you had to kill him," then added hurriedly, "not for his sake, but I wouldn't want you to feel guilty, or remorseful, but I am glad he's not going to be able to hurt anyone else."  
  
"Me too, Chief. Don't worry, I'm not going to feel guilty. That scum didn't deserve any more chances."  
  
Blair nodded and settled back. "As long as you're not in any trouble, or gonna feel guilty, I'm okay with that."  
  
Jim smiled at the certainty in his friend's voice, content that Blair was really okay with what had happened.   
  
He hadn't taken any pleasure in snapping Quinn's neck, but he was satisfied that one more evil man was off the streets of his city for good.  
  
He had hope that even if his peace-loving partner knew the truth, he would still support him. Blair might be an innocent in most things to do with the police, with the law - but he did have an instinctive sense of justice and what it meant.   
  
Sometimes, this steadfast support and loyalty was all he had to sustain him through the worst of the cases that came his way.  
  
  
The End  
  
Dusty Tyree (c)  
12 November 2009  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
